


Other strains of woe (compared with loss of thee will not seem so)

by Kaleidoscope_Carousel



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleidoscope_Carousel/pseuds/Kaleidoscope_Carousel
Summary: Yasha can feel the rage burning in her chest.  How dare this Lucien, this imposter, take Molly’s memory from her.  She rushes forward Magician’s Judge in her hands. The last thing she sees is the stranger wearing Molly’s face smirk at her.“Tsk, tsk, we can’t have that, now, can we?”  He raises his hand towards her and then, blackness.There is a battle.  There is Yasha and Beau.  This is what happens after.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	Other strains of woe (compared with loss of thee will not seem so)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a Shakespearean sonnet, because tradition. Spoilers for up to episode 116.

There’s utter chaos everywhere. Caleb’s web of fire snakes its way between her feet to explode up through the stone floor beneath three of the Tomb Takers and Yasha can feel the rage burning in her chest. How dare this Lucien, this imposter, take Molly’s memory from her. She rushes forward Magician’s Judge in her hands. The last thing she sees is the stranger wearing Molly’s face smirk at her.

“Tsk, tsk, we can’t have that, now, can we?” He raises his hand towards her and then, blackness.

“Beau, why are you crying?” Yasha’s head feels caught in a vice, and her whole left side is on fire, but what concerns her the most is the sight of Beau’s eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, no sign of the usual cocky smirk on her face. She struggles to sit up, and reaches out to touch Beau’s cheek, but Beau startles back and quickly runs the back of her hand over her eyes and under her nose as if the small gesture could remove the tear tracks running through the drying blood on her face, or the telltale splash marks on Yasha’s breastplate. Yasha’s hand hangs there for a moment, before she drops it back down to her side. Beau doesn’t say anything, but her lip wobbles, and she’s taking very deliberate even breaths. Yasha turns to her other side where Jester is kneeling on the icy ground. This part of the ice cave looks familiar, but it wasn’t where they were fighting the Tomb Takers moments ago. This is far closer to the entrance, where weak sunlight is spilling into the darkness within. “Seriously, what happened?”

“You were gone, Yasha,” Jester says, eyes wide but expression relieved, “like _gone_ gone, and we thought you might not be coming back.”

“It was whatever,” Beau adds, and Yasha’s gaze flicks back to Beau’s face. Her usual bravado is strained, but present, “and I wasn’t crying, I just got some fucking blood, like, in my eyes. Or something.”

“I’m not surprised,” Caduceus says. He walks up behind Beau and places a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder. “With the way you were in the thick of things at the very end, there, I’m surprised we didn’t have to bring you back, too.”

“Yeah,” Jester adds, “when you went down, Yasha, and then Moll—Lucien hit you with another attack Beau went a little crazy. Oh my gosh, it was like she was raging or something. Lucien decided it wasn’t worth it, and they managed to get what they came for anyway but she chased them almost all the way up here.”

“Oh,” Yasha says softly, “thank you, Beau.”

“Pssh, it was nothing, y’know. I’m just that good. I only wish I could’ve landed on last hit on those fuckers. I’m uhhh, I’m glad you’re okay now.”

“Yes, me too.”

“I think we all are,” Caduceus adds. There’s something to the timbre of his voice that sparks a memory in Yasha, distant voices, her friends calling her name. And Beau, Beau’s voice above all saying something, something important. She shakes her head but it’s gone.

“I think I heard you,” she says, “it’s hard to make out, it was like a dream, but I heard you calling me.”

“Ah, ja, we were,” Caleb says. He’s slightly back from her, slumped down against the far side of the cave, Frumpkin making kitty biscuits in his lap. He looks a mess, but probably not as bad as she does. Veth stands next to him, clutching her crossbow like a talisman to her chest. Fjord is on his other side, worried gaze fixed on Yasha. She sits up a bit further, Jester’s strong hand on her back helping her up. “We couldn’t let you leave us, not yet.”

“We’re glad you’re back,” Fjord says, “I think it really is mostly thanks to Beau. I mean, we all offered what we could, but she. . .well we should probably let her tell you herself.” Yasha looks back at Beau, who is studiously avoiding her gaze and cleaning blood out from underneath her nails with one of her throwing stars. She thinks it might be one of the ones she bought for Beau so long ago, a lifetime ago it seems, in Zadash.

Yasha reaches out slowly, again, as if Beau is a wild animal that might startle and bolt if she moves too fast. Her fingers gently close around Beau’s wrist. Beau freezes for a moment , but relaxes into the touch. Her skin is so warm, and Yasha can feel the rapid beat of Beau’s pulse under her fingertips. Beau looks down at Yasha’s hand, then back to Yasha’s face.

“I would. . .” Yasha starts to say, then halts to try again, “well, that is if you want to, I would like to hear what happened.”

Beau’s voice is a whisper as she replies, “so many things. . .but not right now.” Yasha glances around at the Nein, her family, all eyes on the two of them.

“Of course,” she answers, letting go of Beau’s wrist, but she allows her touch to linger a bit long, the slide of her fingertips against the soft leather of the Maelstrom gloves just a little too purposeful. “Later,” she says, “I can wait.”

Later comes sooner than expected. With everyone exhausted, Caleb brings up the tower right there inside the cave. Veth goes to find Dagen and bring him in from his campsite. He takes one look at the state of them all and frowns, but makes no comment other than a soft “Glad you’re all okay.”

Yasha, as exhausted as she is even after Caduceus’ prayer of healing and Fjord’s newfound Paladin gifts helping her regain some energy, can’t sleep. She’s sitting on the straw mat watching the flowers in her mural shift in an imaginary breeze, hoping it might bring her some peace, when she hears a soft knock at her door. She moves to the next room and opens the door to see Beau standing there, rubbing the back of her head with one hand, and shifting from foot to foot.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Yasha answers back, “would you like to come in?”

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that’d be great,” she says, and Yasha steps back to allow her entry inside.

“Wow, I always forget how overboard Caleb can get sometimes,” she says glancing around at all of the flowers and plants in the room, “this is like a fucking greenhouse, it’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” Yasha agrees, “I should probably get him to put in some chairs or something, next time, but would you like to come and sit down?” She doesn’t really wait for Beau to answer, her nerves are jangling and she just has to move, so she is already heading into the mural room next door. Beau follows her. They both sit, side by side. Yasha can feel the warmth from Beau’s bare shoulders next to her, not quite touching but so close they may as well be. The silence stretches between them for eternity, it seems, before Beau takes a deep sigh.

“You died, Yasha. You died, and I watched it happen. And all I could think was that I waited too long, I didn’t say something when I should have, and so when we were doing the resurrection ritual, I did. I finally said something. And it’s something that I’d written down for you, but I hadn’t psyched myself up to give it to you. So uhh, here.” Beau holds out a crumpled piece of parchment. It looks like it’s been gripped in her fist for a while. “I may have been standing outside your door for like, a couple of minutes before I knocked. But um, quick, just take it before I flip out again.” Yasha reaches out and grabs the piece of parchment in fingers that she hopes aren’t trembling enough to be noticeable. But Beau probably notices anyway. She’s always seen Yasha. Seen through her even. 

“Should I read it now?”

“Umm, yeah might as well. I don’t think I could wait to hear back from you after. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not usually good at waiting.”

“I think you are better at waiting than you give yourself credit for, but I will look at this now if that is ok.” Beau nods, swallowing heavily, a dark flush spread across her nose and up to her ears.

“Just rip the bandaid off.”

Yasha unfolds the parchment and starts to read.

Dear Yasha,

I read your letter. Days ago, actually, but it’s taken me this long to figure out how to respond. Knowing me it’ll probably take me even longer to get the courage up to give you my response in return. You know I’m not very good at this emotional stuff. Maybe it’s the chip I’ve been carrying around on my shoulder all these years, but it never seemed like something that was meant for me. I’ve always felt that I’ve had something to prove. Like I’m not good enough on my own merits. But I have never once felt that way when I’m with you. You say that you’ve seen me, and believe me I have never felt more seen than when I’m with you. It’s amazing to me how someone so strong can still be so gentle, how someone so powerful can be so tender. You are incredible. I really meant what I said that day at the waterfall. You are so quiet that I think people underestimate you, but you are so much more than what people see at first glance. You said I make you feel safe, well you make me feel like I finally have something worth fighting for, worth protecting. Because you are worth it, Yasha. I know we’ve had our troubles with self esteem but I hope that eventually we’ll convince each other. You make me feel brave. So, in the spirit of taking chances, I wanted to try my hand at writing you a poem. Turn about or whatever. They taught us these at the monastery, it was supposed to help with discipline or something. I just don’t know if I can fit everything I want to say in a few little lines, but here goes:

Waiting for lightning

To illuminate my world

An angel of storms

The rains you bring grow flowers

Seeds of love bloom in my heart

-Beau

Yasha’s hands are trembling, and the paper starts to shake somewhat in her grasp.

“Is this what you said?” she murmurs. Beau is once again rubbing at the back of her head, just above where her beautiful jade tattoo meets her hairline.

“Not the whole thing. Just,uhh, just the poem. And a few other things, too, but I honestly can’t really remember. It was kind of a lot.”

“Beau, I. . .” she stops short, words feeling like too little and too much at the same time. There’s a charge between them right now. It feels like the air before a storm and Yasha can almost imagine sparks jumping between her fingertips. She can’t wait a second longer, and she turns and reaches for Beau, the letter fluttering to the floor beside her. Beau doesn’t resist as Yasha’s arms wrap around her and drag her closer, their foreheads touching. “I have wanted to do this for so long,” she whispers, before leaning in and closing the gap between their lips.

Yasha thought Beau would kiss like she fights, all determination, energy, and bravado, but this is different. It’s soft, tentative. Yasha can feel the Beau’s lips tremble against her at first before Beau opens her mouth beneath Yasha’s own and falls deep into the kiss. Yasha can feel the thunder in her head, or is that just the sound of her own heartbeat? They’re braced at an awkward angle, but Beau grabs fistfuls of Yasha’s tunic and pulls herself across Yasha’s body to straddle her lap, giving them both a relief from the odd twist of their bodies, and at the same time building the tension between the two, like the moment before the wave crashes against the shoreline. Yasha’s hands can’t decide where to settle at first, roving up Beau’s back, resting one hand against her cheek to feel the warm wetness of the tears against her calloused palm. She pauses to pull back a moment from their kiss.

“Beau,” she says for the second time that day, “why are you crying?” Beau lets out a sound that’s part laugh, part sob.

“Because with you, I can. With you I know it’s gonna be okay. Don’t ever leave me again, promise?”

“I promise,” Yasha says. Beau laughs again, stands. She offers a hand to lift Yasha up. Yasha takes it, but scoops the letter up and tucks it into one of her pouches with the other. She doesn’t let go of Beau’s hand, though, she grasps it firmly, not ready to let go. “I want to keep this forever.” Beau smiles, and there’s a trace of darker colour across her nose and cheekbones.

“I’ll do you one better, you get to keep that poem and I will write you more of them. As many as there are flowers on this wall.”

“Promise?” Yasha asks.

“I do,” Beau answers.

“Good. Now, I would suggest we take this into the other room, but I think I remember something about a mirror in yours?” Beau smirks.

“Yeah, I think you mentioned that might come in useful.”

“Oh, tonight? It definitely will.”


End file.
